Lullaby
by Darcy Brandon
Summary: December 28th is the third anniversary of Briscoe's death. Rodgers visits the cemetery and reflects on another year gone by.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes:** Pretty much all of Rodgers' past I have made up. If you want more information on my take on her, please visit dr-liz-rodgers(dot)livejournal(dot)com, which is my ficlet journal for her (sorry, couldn't figure out how to do html on here without it screwing up the whole document). Also, feedback is what writers live on, so if you like this story, please comment!

Elizabeth stands quietly, hands clasped in front of her, holding a black clutch that matches her black dress.

Today, she is Elizabeth. Not Dr. Rodgers or Liz, and certainly not his Lizzy Day.

Her dress has a high neck and it would appear to be one of those itchy wool ones that you get stuck wearing to church. But Elizabeth doesn't go to church – she's not even sure if she believes in God – and in fact, her dress is rather comfortable, even if she is not.

Black high heels sink into the wet ground and she knows she should have worn her flats. Hell, she should have worn jeans and a sweatshirt. He wouldn't have cared.

But today is his day. Even if no one else remembers, she wants to be here for him, she wants to look her best.

She pushes away the guilt she feels. Three years later, she still thinks about him every day. And yet, particularly in recent weeks and months, she finds herself moving away, moving…on.

Moving forward, urging her legs one in front of the other, clumps of mud and grass sticking to her heels, Elizabeth stands close to the headstone, places a hand on it, gently.

The time she spends with another man, with Danny, is something she enjoys. But she's not ready to let go of the man in front of her, the "fine detective, loving father, caring friend". Actually, his headstone only states his name and his dates of birth and death. Had it said anything cheesy, anything remotely trite, she had no doubt he would have refused to have been buried beneath it.

For a good long while, she doesn't speak, just stands there, hand to the headstone, marble cold to the touch.

When she finally does open her mouth, it's not words that come out but a familiar tune, one he would sing to her. He'd swing her around by the hips, as if she were young, as if he were a movie star from the Golden Age. He never needed an expensive suit. That is not what made the man. It was his voice, the swagger in his step. He'd look down at her, lean forward, baritone voice in her ear…

She sings aloud, softly, for him.

"_Come on along and listen to  
The lullaby of Broadway."_

She sniffles slightly, remembering the mischievous smile he'd always wear, loosening his tie as he started a song.

_  
_Continuing, she imagines him with her, hamming it up.

"_The hip hooray and bally hoo,  
The lullaby of Broadway.  
The rumble of the subway train,  
The rattle of the taxis.  
The daffy-dills who entertain  
At Angelo's and Maxie's."_

She doesn't notice the tears until they're sliding down her cheeks.

Swallowing, Elizabeth goes on, __

"When a Broadway baby says "Good night,"  
It's early in the morning.  
Manhattan babies don't sleep tight until the dawn."

_  
"Good night, baby…"_

She is a widow, twice over, even though she has only been married once. Her voice cracks and she closes her eyes, taking a blind step back.

"_Good night, milkman's on his way.  
Sleep tight, baby…"_

She trails off and then whispers it again, quietly, "Good night, baby."


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Please read and review! Thanks!

A few minutes later, Liz straightened herself back up, clutching the old handkerchief in her hands. The monogram peeked out -- L.B. -- and although it was getting colder, she couldn't bring herself to leave. She stood there, stiff, proud...afraid...her face forcedly blank.

Mike Logan wandered into the cemetery, hunched over, hands in his pockets. He felt old, used up - hell, it wasn't even that last case that did it, although now he knew why it hit home. At the time, he wondered why he'd made that "gold watch" crack to Falacci, and when he realized where he'd heard it before, it was like a punch in the gut. _Great_, he thought, _someone's already there_. If it was Gwen Munch and her barky dog, he was gonna go hide for a while.

Liz lifted her head, hoping the footsteps she heard in the distance belonged to someone else, another visitor to another grave.

The profile was all wrong, and not nearly enough makeup. Squinting, Mike realized it was Liz Rodgers.

She tried to ignore the sounds around her, as she had been doing, as she stared at the plain marker.

Logan figured he could duck in, duck out, just like he'd planned, and the beers he'd consumed agreed, so he strolled up to the grave.

Hearing him come closer, Liz finally turned 45 degrees. Seeing who it was, the nonchalant facade wavered momentarily. "Logan," was all she said.

"Rodgers," he said, just as bluntly.

She nodded, looking back at the marker. Most days Logan was any other detective, a pain in the ass. She could usually forget he'd been Lennie's partner. Today, as he stood there looking more like a younger version of the man himself, tacky tie and all, she couldn't forget it.

Mike kept his hands in his pockets as he stared at the grave, wondering again what Lennie'd been thinking when it happened. Hell of a way to go...He shook his head, slightly, trying to shake the image. It wasn't something he wanted to stick with, the hows and whys and whens, because if he did, he'd start thinking about the old guy he saw staring at him in the mirror every morning.

Liz, too, thought of the day that Mike couldn't shake from his mind. It had started out so ordinary...and by that night...She put a hand to the bridge of her nose and blinked back tears.

"Kid," Mike said suddenly, "He was still calling me "kid," if you can believe it. Like that would mean he was still young."

She pushed back the tears and managed a shaky laugh. "He didn't feel well...that morning...but he...brought me coffee and a little note." It occurred to her that Tilde was the only other person who knew this, and she figured that if anyone should know about it, Logan certainly deserved to. "Kissed me before he headed back to work. Said he didn't give a damn who saw and that at his age...well he could do whatever he wanted and it's not like he gave a shit what the department thought of him anyway." She'd begun to ramble, like someone who's kept something in and finally found someone to listen. "He started to rant...I had to work. So I told him we'd talk about it later and he left...only...well you know. No later."

Clearing his throat, Mike nodded. "Yeah, he was good at later. He didn't like goodbyes. I guess he thought they were too final." The sound he made was supposed to be a laugh. "They were for other people, anyway, not him. He always had later."

Liz took out the handkerchief--the one Lennie'd left at her apartment--and dabbed her eyes.

"We were supposed to catch up later. Get a drink later, really sit down later." Mike pressed his lips back together in a tight little line, clamping whatever else he had to say back in.

"He did worry about you," she offered, quietly. "Maybe didn't always do exactly what he should have, even by his own standards. But he never shied away from telling people you'd been his partner."

"Yeah?" Logan blinked, a quick expression of gratitude on his face. For a moment, he looked younger again.

Catching the look, Liz nodded. "I don't have to tell you the ways in which the job and friendships conflict. You do what you have to...regardless of whether you want to or not."

It was Mike's turn to nod as he looked back at the stone. "Yeah, I know all about that."

"I know you do," she said. "So did he. He hoped...you'd understand."

"I'm not blaming him for that," Mike said, "I made the stupid mistakes I made."

Watching him, Liz sighed softly.

Mike went on, "I blame me...for not, I don't know. For just...thinking he was right - that we'd always have later."

"You certainly don't have to justify anything to me." Her voice was quiet, no hint of judgment or reproach. She glanced at the ground.

After a moment, Logan spoke up again. "I better get going, anyway,"

When you were a widow, for a day, everyone wore black. They talked to you, they remembered with you...and then they were gone and you were alone with your memories. She looked back up at Logan's tired eyes. They had known each other long enough for her to know that it was the same way when you lost a partner. He was just as alone as she was, even now, years later. She moved forward, slightly, and then stopped, holding his gaze. "Don't--be a stranger."

"How can I be?" He managed one of his grins, "You know where I work." He didn't straighten up, though, and his hands stayed in his pockets as he glanced around.

She nodded, regarding him for a moment like she would her own son, concerned for his well-being. Aloud she said, "That I do. And I can still kick your ass."

Mike rolled his eyes, this time with a more sincere smile, and said, "Catch you later, Rodgers," before turning to make his way out of the cemetery.

Liz smiled slightly to herself as he left. Funny--but not in that amusing ha-ha sort of way--how they did that with such ease. Lennie had been the master at it--covering up feelings with sarcasm. It was much easier to tell a joke than deal with the bleak reality that their jobs and their lives set in front of them. If there was anything she'd learned from Lennie, it was that if you were going to survive, you may as well do it with a good retort.


End file.
